Poetry

Stop the boats

Against the horizon’s stubborn gleam, Where gulls wheel over restless seas, A plea drifts on the salty breeze— To halt the surge, to still the stream. No longer shall the tides bear

Blood

In ruby tides the veins do flow, A quiet pulse beneath the skin, Haemoglobin carries life’s soft glow, Each beat a whisper, deep within. It stains the cloth, it marks the ground, Yet in its

Crawley Town

In the heart of West Sussex, where the M23 sighs, Lies Crawley Town, a club that never says die. Red shirts flash like fire across Broadfield’s grass, While the fans chant loud, a

Tween

In the hush between the playground’s shout And the first sigh of teenage doubt, Lives the tween – a bright‑in‑between, Where crayon dreams and school‑day schemes Lean against the locker’s gleam, Half‑painted in the colours

Annagh United

Annagh United Beneath the Antrim sky, so oft been grey, Where Mourne's blue shoulders guard the northern plain, The red and white stand firm, come wind or spray, On Annagh's humble pitch, where dreams

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